


Red Blood, Red Desert

by tielan



Series: Blood Primes of Atlantis [1]
Category: Blood Primes series - Susan Sizemore, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Drama, F/M, Gen, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-18
Updated: 2011-08-18
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've written several version of this AU Fusion - SGA with Susan Sizemore's "Blood Primes" series. This is the one I like the least.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Red Blood, Red Desert

**Author's Note:**

> I've written several version of this AU Fusion - SGA with Susan Sizemore's "Blood Primes" series. This is the one I like the least.

John adjusted his sunglasses in the midday glare and lifted his head to sniff at the air. Rich dust, sun-warmed stone, and the thick reek of the cactus greeted his senses, and he could sense nothing within a ten mile radius.

"How far out are we?" He asked Lorne over the noise of the jeep's engine and the rattle and hiss of dirt through the wheels.

The other Prime turned his head from the 'road' - this far out in the desert, there was no 'road' per se, and scanned the horizon. "I'd say ten, twelve miles out. There's an arroyo a couple of miles away - we’ll hit the riverbed shortly. I figured we'd leave the jeeps about eight miles out and go in on foot."

"Rodney?" John glanced over into the back, where a man scowled over his open laptop.

"Still working on it. Is there _any_ dust that isn't making its way into Sam's keyboards? I swear..."

 _He named his netbook 'Sam'?_ Lorne asked directly into John's head.

John hid his grimace as he replied, _Don't ask._ Then told the other man, "Don't swear. Just make sure we don't appear on their radar."

"You do realise that, technically, they don't have radar..." At John's growl, Rodney rolled his eyes, turned back to his laptop and muttered, "Primes." A series of unflattering beneath-the-breath comments followed - perfectly audible to both John and Lorne.

Of course, Rodney had meant them to be.

 _Bates, this is Sheppard. We're heading for an arroyo where we'll dump the jeeps and head in to the bunker on foot._

 _Yes, sir._ The second jeep was maybe a quarter-mile behind them. To the naked eye, it looked like a miniature car sending up a plume of dust behind. Part of that dust was doubtless the third jeep, even further back.

It was the plumes that had worried John when he'd seen the terrain. This Tribe had chosen this site well - in the middle of the desert, without cover or shade, but also with lines of visibility that stretched for miles. With the addition of a state-of-the-art security system - or so Rodney claimed - the place was pretty defensible against most attacks.

John didn't remember where the tip had come from - a rumour that blossomed into a certainty when Rodney located the site and trained some satellite surveillance on it. Over the course of days, they watched supplies and Primes entering and leaving - a stronghold of Tribe Primes working on a project that nobody knew about.

After the discovery of this site, Cougar Clan had spoken with the Wolf, Fox, Corvus, and Shagal Clans of the southwest about the recent developments in their area. Details of the Manticore sting and the subsequent discovery of the longevity project had been passed from the Matri and Elders of those Clans to Cougar, and the Snakes had filled in what they knew of Brashear - the Snake Clan mule who'd been working for the Patron at the time. There’d been other Clans with representatives, too - Bear, Coyote, and Jaguar - and the werefolk and Dark Angels had sent people along to represent as well.

The result was a rough coalition of all the major involved parties in the Americas - _sans_ the Families, of course, but they’d always been fence-sitters.

"Are the Matri really worried about these experiments?" Lorne asked out loud as he began veering the jeep towards a dry riverbed, heading for the arroyo's depths.

"Who sends a dozen Primes in to deal with something they're not worr-ied about?" Rodney's voice hiccuped as Lorne took them off the flat land and into the uneven riverbend strewn with dry stones and rough pebbles. "And just in case anyone was worrying about it, we're off their systems now."

Relieved that there was one less thing for him to worry about, John began checking his personal arsenal as they bumped and jolted their way along the river's course. "They're worried," he said. "The world's moving faster than they ever expected it would - most of the current Matri were born before the world had electricity."

"Matri Melia was born before Leonardo Da Vinci," said Rodney matter-of-factly. "Which still freaks me out. How do you cope with living so long, anyway?"

At thirty-eight, Rodney was the youngest of the taskforce. He was also the only mortal on the mission, and John had argued long and hard for his inclusion in an attack on Tribe territory. If not for the extensive surveillance technology that John's team didn't have time to decode, Rodney would have been left back at the Clan citadel.

"Patience, grasshopper," said Lorne with light malice. "You'll live long enough."

"Yeah, but not the way you guys do. Then again," said Rodney, his tone changing from sulky to lofty in a matter of syllables, "at least I'm not a walking dick."

They jittered along the rough riverbed, and it was a moment before Lorne’s retort came as John had expected. “Depends on who you ask.”

John let Rodney and Lorne trade insults and didn’t join in. They didn’t need him to have a good time.

Instead, he let his thoughts drift along the path ahead of them as his hands checked his clips and his thoughts wandered through the desert, careful to avoid the Tribe stronghold and the Primes that waited there.

 _Who is it?_

It was the merest brush of a mind against his, feminine, cool, ‘smelling’ faintly of musk and cedar, but it jolted through John like an electric current.

His incisors lengthened so fast he nearly bit his lip. _Who’s there?_

 _I asked first,_ she said, and if she spoke with authority, there was also a hint of amusement, hidden so deep that John caught only the faintest brush of it. Not only a psychic, but a high-level one - with experience in using her gift and defending against others.

John grinned through his lengthened fangs. Mortals rarely realised what they had, let alone learned to use it, but this woman was strong, her contact sure.

 _Major John Sheppard, USAF._ He used his military title, never mind that he wasn’t acting on behalf of the Air Force right now. Listing his true allegiances would gain him nothing with this mortal woman - especially not her trust.

In the jeep, Lorne was staring at him with a question in his gaze. Rodney was saying his name, slightly panicked as he frantically tapped out commands on his computer.

“I’m fine,” he said, signalling for them to be quiet. _And you?_

She hesitated a moment. _Teyla Emmagan._

In just her name, John had the impression of a lifted chin, dark eyes, strong bones, lithe strength. He was impressed by the strength of her touch - and more than a little turned on.

Primes were sexual creatures by nature; mostly women, occasionally men. Either way, sex came as instinctively as breath to a full-grown Prime. And John had been a full-grown Prime for more than fifty years.

He’d never touched a mortal mind like this.

 _So what brings you out into New Mexico, Teyla?_ In spite of the delicious tension all though his body, he forced his psychic touch to be light and casual, as though they’d just crossed paths in the street and were holding an easy conversation.

She stripped that away with her grim answer. _Most likely the same thing that brings you. The Tribe stronghold._

Realisation flooded through him, instant astonishment. _How do you know about the Tribes?_ Then it hit him, like a ball of fire in his belly. Not mortal. _Clan?_

 _Family._

John’s first reaction was fury: a female of the Families, this close to a Tribe stronghold? Did she know what would happen to her if she was caught? Did her Family have any idea of how precious a female was? Primes were a dime a dozen, but a daughter among the People was a rare and treasured gift - at least among the Clans, they were, and were pampered and pleasured.

 _What the hell are you doing here?_

 _I take it you are Clan, then, John Sheppard of the United States Air Force?_

 _How’d you guess?_

He felt her laugh like a huff of breath across the nape of his neck, setting his nerves tingling. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his hands had formed claws. It was a shock to discover that even through anger, he could still desire.

 _I have been here several days,_ Teyla of the Families continued, her voice calm and without any apparent awareness of John’s reaction. At least he wasn’t projecting. _They have not yet realised my presence._

John wanted to swear at her, to tell her to get the hell back to her Family and her people, to leave this work to the Primes who were trained for it. A female, out here, alone, near a Tribe of Primes that would fuck her as soon as look at her...

Revulsion roiled through him like a scouring wind through the Afghanistani hills. A moment later, his brain kicked back into gear as Rodney gripped his shoulder, startling him out of his psychic conversation.

 _Excuse me a moment,_ he told Teyla of the Families before turning his attention to Rodney. “What?”

They were staring at him, Lorne with narrowed eyes, Rodney with a scowl.

“Excuse us for being worried,” Rodney snapped. “You zone out in the middle of nowhere, when we’re on our way to confront a bunch of Tribe Primes - your fangs are out, your hands are clawed, and you’ve got a boner.”

“State the obvious, Rodney,” John retorted. He didn’t shift or try to hide his erection; he was Prime and a hard-on came with the psychic territory - especially when it came to females. “There’s a vampire female out here.”

The jeep swerved a little to Rodney’s vocal protest. “Sorry,” muttered Lorne, before the blue-grey gaze fixed on John. “A female? Of the Clans? Held prisoner?”

“Family. And from what I gather, she’s not prisoner.”

Although she was fucking lucky. If the Tribe Primes had gotten wind of her...

“Her Family allowed her to come out here?”

“Somehow, I don’t think her Family knows.” John reached out for the female vampire’s mind, and found it faster than he expected. In the psychic landscape, she was a glowing presence, impossible to miss. _What are you doing out here, anyway?_

He felt her hesitation, but held his ground. She might be one of the rare females of the People, but she was also a potential variable in the equation of John’s mission; when that mission concerned the lives of his men, he wasn’t going to risk it.

It took her a moment to relent. _I have friends inside that compound,_ she said. _Mortals._

John stared. _There are mortals in there?_

He didn’t realise he’d spoken aloud until Lorne asked, “There are mortals in the compound?”

 _Yes,_ Teyla said, her voice like steel. _At least twelve. And, yes, they have been used as you would expect of Tribe Primes._

Shit.

 _Are you in contact with them?_

 _Yes._

 _We’re on our way in,_ he told her. _There’s an arroyo some eight miles to the north-east of the compound, we’re coming down that._

He felt her surprise. _You came all the way in on foot?_

 _Chopper to Albuquerque, jeep to the arroyo, foot to the compound._

 _Send in the Clans?_

John smirked and knew she felt it. He could feel her amusement like a warm body leaning over his shoulder, and the sensation slid over him like a fingertip run gently down his cock. _Where are you?_

Overlaid on the arroyo’s walls was a brief flash of her surroundings as she opened her vision to him - a confusing double-vision of clustering rocks beneath a scrawny scrubline, blue sky, red dust, and the sunlight hammering down on cinnamon-gold skin. Not more than a mile away, John could see the barbed-wire fence of the compound, could smell the cement and iron of the complex, could taste the pain and despair seeping through the very concrete of the place. He drew in a long breath as the vision faded.

She was very close to the compound - dangerously close.

 _You’re risking a lot._

 _I have a responsibility to those women. Just as you have a responsibility to your men._ She was entirely unapologetic in her statement. He could feel the steel of her spirit, a shining core of will and self-control. _Will you accept my assistance?_

 _Does it involve telling us everything you know and then staying out of the fight?_

 _What do you think, Major John Sheppard of the Clans?_

John figured he had about as much chance of persuading Teyla of the Families to stay in one place as he did of persuading the sun to rise in the west. Even a Prime of the Clans knew when to stand and when to bend.

 _All right,_ he said. _But you’ll have to fall in with our plans._

He’d never seen her smile, but he could feel the intensity of it through the psychic connection between them.

 _Thank you._

\--

If her mind had electrified him at that first psychic contact, it was nothing to the sight of her.

Teyla Emmagan of the Families was smaller than he expected, given her psychic presence, but stunning. She complemented the desert in rich bronze and burnished mahogany, but her eyes were cool and hard.

In linen trousers and a close-fitting wifebeater, she hardly looked the part of a female of the Families. In fact, she hardly seemed ‘female’ at all when compared to the Matri and house mothers of the Clan, her feet planted apart, shoulders square. There wasn’t a trace of flirtatiousness in her pose or gaze, she held herself with all the confident arrogance of a Prime.

Then her gaze arrowed in on John.

He held her gaze; he was Prime. But desire licked his veins, and primal hunger dried out his mouth and lengthened his fangs. She felt it, of course - she’d have grown up among Primes, would have bedded those that took her fancy - but the faintest tilt of one corner of her mouth was all the physical reaction she gave his response, and she gave him nothing back on a psychic level.

 _Major Sheppard._

If her nod wasn’t quite military, it wasn’t far from it. She surveyed the other Primes, who eyed her back or smiled according to their age and availability, but she turned back to John and he felt a surge of pleasure at that, then pushed it carefully away.

 _Teyla of the Families. Are you sure about this?_

The sideways look she gave him from beneath dark lashes said it all. She would be involved with this mission whether John wanted it or not. _I have a suggestion, if you are open to adjustments to your plan._

 _I’m always open to adjustment,_ he said.

 _Let me go in first._

John’s reaction was the same as that of every Prime around him: instant, total rejection.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Ford out loud, before he winced at his own audacity. As the youngest of the Primes on the taskforce, he wasn’t supposed to be commenting on the plan. But if Bates shot the young marine a quelling look, John understood the reaction perfectly.

He made himself think past the protective instinct to what she was offering. And when he realised what she intended, he wasn’t sure whether to be shocked or impressed.

 _Are you sure you can handle them?_

 _Are you doubting me?_

He felt his mouth lengthen in a close-lipped grimace before he could stop himself. _I know Primes._

 _And you think I do not?_

How to explain that her suggestion raised a reaction he couldn’t control and wasn’t comfortable with? The mission was paramount; the fact that John would kill any Tribe Prime who laid a hand on her shouldn’t factor into his plans.

He forced himself to look at the advantages of her suggestion, forced his hands to unfist, forced his lips to form the word, “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

It took John a moment to realise that the conversation had taken place privately between them. The others were looking at them with raised brows and frowns. He thought about explaining what she planned to do, then decided that it would be better not to - he’d had enough trouble fighting his own instincts; he didn’t want to be fighting theirs as well.

“Ms. Emmagan goes in first,” he said and looked around to quell any dissent. “She’s agreed to this, and...” He fought to get the words out, “I think it’ll work.”

And if it didn’t, then he’d just condemned her to life as a Tribe slave.

 _It will work,_ she said and her expression had softened from its intense seriousness.

 _It had better,_ he replied. _Signal when you’re at the gates._ He turned to his men. “We’re all ready?”

Their eyes were locked behind him, and even before he turned his head, he knew why.

If his first estimation of Teyla of the Families had been that she wasn’t feminine enough, he revised it now. Stripped down to a bra and panties, there was no doubt that she was female.

She looked good enough to eat.

John took a step forward, and saw her head turn. Her ponytail swept the line of her neck as her gaze swept his men.

She wasn’t afraid of them, nor even wary. Whatever her Family’s traditions, she knew enough of the Clans to trust that they wouldn’t touch her short of an unequivocal invitation. And the gaze that moved over them held a flat distance that warned against approaching her.

Until her gaze rested on John.

He felt hunger like a jolt in the belly, desire like a hand on his cock. He wondered what it would be like to let his fangs sink into her shoulder, her breast, her thigh, tasting her blood - wondered how it would feel to have her fangs in his shoulder, his forearm, his belly, tasting his blood.

Rationality reined in desire before it went beyond his control - that it might go beyond his control at all terrified him, and he approached her with all his shields up.

It took will not to let his gaze linger over the bared curves of her body. It took effort not to close his fingers around her wrist and tell her that she wasn’t walking into a Tribe stronghold dressed like that. It took cold, ruthless logic to remind him that she had a squadron of disciplined Clan Primes spellbound, and that the Tribe Primes - or any mortals they had on security - wouldn’t have a thought in their heads once she walked in among them, leaving them open to attack.

Teyla was the bait; John and his men were the hook.

 _Signal when you’re at the gates,_ he reminded her.

She nodded once, flexed her fingers and her bare toes in the rough, red sand of the desert, and looked John in the eye.

 _Maybe later,_ she said, unsmiling. And John knew she didn’t mean the signalling. He half-raised a hand to touch bronzed skin, to stake a claim with his touch.

But she was already gone.

\--

In the labyrinthine corridors of the Tribe stronghold, John moved with Ford and Teyla at his back.

He’d thought twice about taking the young Prime, wondering if the marine’s discipline would be strained with Teyla so close.

He needn’t have worried - Teyla treated Ford with an easy friendliness that marked out a very clear line between what was acceptable and what was unacceptable. For his part, Ford seemed easy enough about her joining the task force and even cracked a few jokes at which she laughed.

They’d waltzed through the gatehouse and into the complex thanks to Teyla. She’d taken out first the mortals at the gate, and then the Primes inside with a swiftness that had taken John’s men by surprise.

It seemed quite clear that the Families weren’t teaching their females to be fainting flowers, whatever their shortcomings in protecting them.

She’d ransacked the clothing off one of the mortals - shrugging on a shirt and trousers over her skin with brisk efficiency, then slipped into the pattern of attack and defence with a fluidity of experience that made John wonder if she’d been military trained herself. The only thing was that he was fairly certain he’d have heard if any of the Families had allowed a daughter out to join the military. Laura would have used it to argue why she should be allowed to join the marines, for starters; and there would have been fallout of Convocation proportions.

John paused at an intersection, listening for the sounds of movement, of voices, of anything that might tell them where there might be people hiding or imprisoned.

Teyla had said there were at least a dozen mortal women in here; and as they moved through the corridors but failed to find any of them, her expression had grown increasingly grim. John wan’t yet at the point where he would ask her about it, but it was getting there.

 _Bates?_

 _Four Tribe Primes, sir, seven blood-enslaved mortals - all males,_ Bates reported. _We’re clear._

 _Lorne?_

 _We’re holding down one of the laboratories,_ said Lorne. _One Prime, two mortals, a werefox, and a mule from the Coyotes._

 _Another mule?_

John filed a note in the back his head; the Matri might like to take a look at the children born to Cougar Primes and their mortal bondmates. Known colloquially as ‘mules’, they were usually employed in some measure by the Clans, but often carried a lingering bitterness for what they were and weren’t.

It had to be difficult, living mortal in a world you could never fully inhabit - barred from it because you didn’t have the psychic ability or the length of life that allowed you to fully experience life as a vampire. The children of Primes and mortal women were included in the world of the vampire Clans, but few of them ever truly belonged there, and some grew angry for what they couldn’t have.

Rodney had never seemed bitter, but what would John know?

 _Beckett will love this - it looks like they’re working on daylight drugs - not the generic Dawn kind, but more like ours - tailored to the Prime’s body chemistry._

 _Anything else?_

 _A whole bunch of stuff that...I can’t make head or tail of. It might be related to the longevity project that the Corvus Prime mentioned. We’ll have to bring the scientists in to work it out. Maybe the Dark Angels since they’ve seen this stuff before._ Lorne’s thoughts sharpened. _What about you?_

 _Five down and tagged - all Primes. No sign of the mortal women,_ said John. He kept his tone even. Bates had already called Teyla’s intel into question; suggesting that maybe she’d been so eager to see some action that she’d lied about the women - and the lean on the word ‘action’ had been unmistakeable.

John trusted her;

 _It’s a big complex. Bates has been in contact - he says they keep discovering new corridors and dead ends. Collins is trying to coax information out of one of the guys, but the blood enslavement keeps getting in the way._

As Teyla signalled an ‘all clear’ for them to move down the corridor, John grimaced.

Blood slaves were the Tribes’ way of binding mortals to their service - usually women, but occasionally men. It was a perversion of the bonding ritual used to connect a Prime and his mate together in psychic connection - what one felt, the other felt. But what was supposed to be a balancing gesture between two individuals became a chain around the neck of the weaker party as the psychic link enforced the Tribe Prime’s will on the mortal.

As he followed Teyla down the corridor, Ford watching their backs, John had a thought. _How good are you at opening psychic blocks?_

 _It depends on how good the psychic blocks are,_ came the response. _I imagine you want me to work with the enslaved mortals?_

 _It would help..._

John trailed off as a door opened up ahead, and a woman walked out.

She was spikey-short blonde and stark naked, and from the press of her bones against her skin, she’d been starved and drained several times. The scent that surrounded her was a cloud of fear, and her eyes didn’t seem entirely human anymore.

Teyla stopped and her breath caught. “Phoebe.” In that name was a terrible grief, and for a moment John thought she was going to run forward. He caught her arm before she could move, but she didn’t try to pull away.

A moment later, he heard the growl and thought it was his; but just behind him, Ford was tensing, ready to pull the woman away from whatever had sent her out into the corridor, his fangs out, his fury like the heat from an F-18’s engines after a twelve-hour flight.

 _Hold your position, soldier!_

The younger Prime obeyed, but his teeth stayed bared. John understood the anger, he was struggling against his own instincts, but he was older and more experienced; he sensed that more was coming.

‘More’ came in the form of another woman moving out from the room in the same sleeper’s gait: swaying and gaunt. This one had long black hair that flowed over her shoulders and breasts like a cloud, but her eyes were just as blank and empty as the first’s. Behind her came another woman...and another...and another. They crowded into the corridor with the blank, empty expressions of women from whom control had been taken repeatedly, and who had retreated into somewhere safe inside their minds after they discovered there was nowhere else they could feel safe.

John refused to let himself feel sick; he refused to let himself rage without a focus; he waited to see the bastard or bastards who’d done this - because this had been orchestrated for a reason.

 _Can you reach their minds?_ He asked Teyla.

 _Barely,_ she said, and beneath his hand, her muscles vibrated with screaming tension. Like Ford, she was poised to spring, and somehow, John knew this was exactly what their opponent wanted.

 _Show yourself!_ He snarled at the silence behind the women. _Or are you such a coward that you need to hide behind the mortal women?_

The Tribe Prime stepped out of the room, his face pale and pointed, his hair short and spikey. His bearing was vaguely military, and his eyes glowed red as he grinned with pointed teeth.

 _I prefer to think of it as cautious,_ he said. _My life is worth more to me than my honour._

“Michael.” Teyla breathed the name, and John felt shock reverberate through his body.

“You know him?”

“He was born Tribe, but raised in my Family,” she said. “We thought you dead.”

“Say the truth, Teyla. You wished me dead.”

“I rejected you.” There was a meticulous care about her, as though she was picking her way through a minefield. “That is not the same as wishing you dead.”

“I was everything you wanted me to be and more,” said the other Prime with a bitterness that resonated in the enclosed passageway. “And still, you could not...” He broke off.

“I could not,” Teyla said and angry finality resonated in her voice, quivered in the arm under John’s hand. He forced himself to touch her lightly, not to grip, not to clutch. This was her history, her past, he would not interfere with it - it had nothing to do with the present or the future. “You could not give me what I wanted.”

Red eyes narrowed as he bit out, “I would have given you everything!”

“Except the freedom to be myself,” she answered, and her voice strained with the tension. “Which is why I chose Kanaan to father my children.”

Blood suddenly scented the air - Teyla’s blood, seeping up from the punctures John’s claws had made in her arm.

The three Primes drew breath, a slow savouring of the rich tang that filled the air. Beneath his hand, Teyla stood perfectly still, her face in profile to John, her expression tense and expectant.

It took John’s blood-blurred mind a moment to realise that she expected him to bite and was prepared to block the orgasmic rush that would take her when he tasted her blood - a psychic and physiological response.

He was tempted for a moment. Jealousy warred with protectiveness, possessiveness. His instincts strained towards the taste of her. With a rival Prime facing them, with a subordinate Prime observing them, John felt the pull of blood and instinct and the desire to blot out the questions that the Tribe Prime had raised. Was Kanaan her bondmate? Or merely a lover? She’d had children? Had her family allowed her out, or had she broken with them?

His control wavered as his fangs watered. Then training and discipline set in. She had not invited him to partake of her blood, he would not cross that line.

He let her arm go and looked across the sea of blank-faced women at Michael Tribeson.

 _John?_

 _This is your fight,_ he said, although his instincts wanted to leap past the blood-slaves, and tear out the other Prime’s throat. _Ford?_ He contacted the young Prime privately.

 _Sir? I’m okay, sir._ His voice wavered a little, drawn by the scent of Teyla’s blood, but he was in control.

 _I never thought otherwise,_ he told the young marine. _Let Teyla deal with the Tribe Prime._

 _Sir?_

 _They’ve got a history,_ he kept his tone carefully expressionless, even as his spine crawled at the thought of the Tribe Prime in Teyla’s arms, Teyla’s bed. _She knows his weaknesses, I think she can deal with him. We get to deal with the women._

 _When he releases them. If he releasese them._

John made a note to commend Ford for this mission. Thinking under pressure, with raw blood in his nostrils and faced with the evidence of Tribe abuse, Ford was keeping it all together. John could think of other, older Primes who wouldn’t have been so civilised.

“What are you doing here, Michael?”

“Learning,” he said with a thin smile. “Do you not remember? The desire for knowledge is the beginning of all _wisdom_.”

“This?” One bronzed hand indicated the complex around them. “This is foolishness, not wisdom, Michael. Whatever you are being made to do, whatever has been promised you...”

His snarl echoed through the space. “The only thing I would accept is that which you withheld from me once before!”

Teyla looked down. Her silence told its own story.

For a moment, the corridor rang with silence. Then Teyla lifted her head and her jaw flexed with fierce emotion, held in check. “And for these women?”

 _Do not even_ think _about it,_ he told her.

 _You have no authority over me, John Sheppard of Cougar Clan,_ she replied. _Would you not do the same for your men?_

He would. That wasn’t the point. _I’m not a potential mother._

 _Perhaps neither am I anymore,_ she said.

Before he could ask what she meant, the Tribe Prime stepped out from behind the women, into an avenue the women formed, their blank faces staring straight ahead. Only one woman remained in front of them, blocking him from a direct hit.

“Would you offer yourself in exchange?”

“Yes. Would you take it?”

The smile was thin and pointed around the fangs. “The Clan Prime at your back would never accept your bargain,” he said. “So we are at an impasse.”

 _Ford, can you reach the mortals?_

“Only because you make it so.”

 _Trying, sir. It’s like banging my head against a brick wall._

“ _You_ are the one who made it this way, Teyla!”

 _Keep banging._ John told Ford.

If they could get the women free of the Prime’s control, then he’d lose his human shield and they might be able to take him down. John didn’t know how high this Prime was in the scheme of things, but he was willing to bet that he was pretty knowledgeable. The guy didn’t seem like the type to take anything lying down.

He reached for Lorne, Bates, and Collins, trying to find someone near enough to give them backup - or someone to work out where this corridor lead and block the Tribe Prime off at the other end.

Teyla was still talking to Michael. John listened with half an ear, fighting the instinct to drag her away from the shivering, blank women and the other Prime. “You are the one who collected these women,” she was saying. “You chose this path; I did not send you down it.”

Behind the concealment of Teyla’s back, the fingers of John’s left hand tightened on his weapon. If he could get that one woman to move out of the way, he would shoot the bastard with the silver-chased bullets in his weapon.

 _Ford?_

 _They’re blocked, sir. I don’t know what he did..._

 _Damn._

John tuned back in, just in time to hear Teyla ask, “What purpose did it serve to bring them here?” He could hear the desperate note in her voice - the anger and despair at her perceived failure to protect these women.

“What purpose?” Eyebrows rose, pale gold in a pale face. “You truly did not realise?”

“Help me understand.”

“They were fodder for a while. Entertainment. However, they have served all their purposes but one.”

“Exchange counters?”

“No.” John saw the thin smile grow somehow thinner, knew that the gaze was resting on him and Ford for a measuring moment. One pale hand moved behind the screen of naked bodies. “I believe your companions would call them collateral damage.”

He was moving before he knew it.

This time, she struggled against his grip, sensing what was to happen an instant ahead of Michael’s movement - but as John saw the walls explode inward, he knew it was already too late for her friend and the other women. Too close to the blast, too weak from the cycles of abuse, too much the bait and not enough the fighter.

It was too late for them.

It wasn’t too late for Teyla.

Vampire speed dragged her back from the exploding shrapnel and the fiery orange flame. Vampire strength swung her around so both Ford and he were between her and the worst of the blast. He felt needle-sharp fragments slice through his shirtsleeves and into his flesh as they fell to the concrete floor of the corridor, shoved down by the explosion.

Fire singed his hair, seared his shoulder, he snarled with pain, but the heave of her shoulders against his chest said that she was alive.

There was smoke and dust, and the dim sound of shouting down the corridor. John’s ears were ringing, and Teyla was shoving at him, pushing him off her, her lips moving, although he could hear nothing but the tinny scream in his mind.

 _Why did you do that?_ She climbed to her feet, her face smeared with dust and tears, her expression desolate as she turned to look at the devastation behind them.

John climbed to his feet. _Because I had to! Your life..._

Teyla grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face the corridor behind them. _Was my life worth this?_

Behind them, great chunks of bloody rubble littered the landscape, visible limbs sticking out from the rocks like tumbled mannequins. No question but that the women were dead. No-one would survive that. And the Tribe Prime?

Long gone.

John sent out a message to Lorne, warning him about the Tribe Prime, just in case. However, he suspected they’d seen the last of him for the moment - someone cunning enough to prepare a getaway like that was someone who would know a dozen different ways out of a place like this.

Michael Tribeson would be back.

John caught his breath. Ford lay halfway between the worst of the piled rubble and where Teyla and he had fallen, his shoulder a bloody mass, his head bleeding from a gouge by a flying piece of rock.

 _Lieutenant_! John knelt beside the young Prime, brushing off dust and smaller fragments of rock. _Ford!_

Teyla knelt down on Ford’s other side. _He is breathing_ , she said, her fingers resting lightly on his chest. _But his heartbeat falters_. Her eyes looked up in accusation. _Was his life worth it?_

 _Lorne, get McKay to call in the clean-up squad._ John said, ignoring the question. _Is your section of the complex secure?_

 _All clear, sir. Yours?_

John lifted his head and looked at the bloody passageway. He doubted the Tribe Prime would have left anyone behind him; _Clear. Now get a medical team in here now!_

On the other side of Ford, Teyla had sat back on her haunches, and was surveying the carnage. As he watched, her eyes slowly closed and he felt her grief like a stabbing ache in his own chest. He understood; he’d failed before, too.

Unsure of what to do, uncertain of what to say to this female of the Families that took her responsibilities as seriously as any Clan Prime, John hesitated, then reached for her hand over Ford’s chest. He felt clumsy and stupid, awkward at a moment when he would have preferred to be suave and in control.

Her skin was hot beneath his, and although her body stiffened, she didn’t pull away.

John waited until her gaze rose to his face, watching the way her mouth pulled down at the corners. She wasn’t willing to reject him outright, but neither was she happy with him. Fine, he could live with that. He couldn’t have lived with allowing Teyla to die.

 _I’d have preferred them to survive,_ he told her, flatly. _But our people can’t afford to lose a potential mother. You know that._

Their gazes tangled, hers rebellious, his unyielding. _And you?_

 _What about me?_

 _Could you afford to lose me?_

The question was blunt, bold - more confronting than John expected from a female. Primes did the pursuing, whether with mortals or with their own kind; that was the way it had always been.

This was different. Teyla was different.

And he was terrified of the answer.

Primes were supposed to long for a bond, to long for that partner who was their soul mate; the possibility that Teyla of the Families might be that partner chilled him to his core. Desire was one thing; destiny another.

Still, John forced himself to examine the question, focused his gaze on the bloody remnant of one of the blood-enslaved mortals who had been nothing more than pawns to be sacrificed. There were layers in the question, too, things that she was and wasn’t saying.

In the end, did it make a difference? If he hadn’t acted, if she’d died, if he’d been in a situation where he could have saved her, not acted, and been forced to watch her die, would he have been damned?

Yes.

 _No_ , he answered and felt the one syllable ring with terrifying truth.

Then Lorne and his men came along and they got to the bloody business of cleaning up without any further discussion being made.

\--

John was sitting facing the sunset with his back against the warm concrete wall. Behind him, in the building, Clan personnel swarmed around and through the complex, cataloguing, cleaning up, contemplating, conferencing.

He’d gotten out of there as soon as possible, to sit beneath the sky and taste the desert air.

Ford was being seen to by the doctors at the Cheyenne clinic - they’d swarmed over him like bees, speaking incomprehensible phrases, their thoughts and expressions concerned, but their manner’s brisk and competent. He’d been happy to let Ford into their care.

Lorne was presently dealing with Rodney; John would usually have taken on that job, but after Teyla’s accusation, he didn’t feel like arguing every damn statement. Rodney was in the mood for a fight; John wasn’t.

He wasn’t in the mood to have Teyla Emmagan of the Families sit down next to him either. But a Prime didn’t tell a female to go away; most Primes in his place would have been slavering over the opportunity to speak with a female of their own kind.

 _But then, you are not most Primes,_ she said, dropping into a cross-legged seat beside him.

 _And you aren’t most females,_ he countered.

 _My Family permitted me this after I bore my children,_ she said, with a wave of one hand to indicate land and sky. So she was bound by her own sets of rules; and she’d done part of her duty by her Family.

 _You’re still young enough to bear more._

Her mouth twisted. _With you?_

 _Maybe._ He understood her reaction; with most Primes, that would have been a declaration of intent. John wouldn’t rule it out. But that wasn’t his concern right now. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with Teyla, the bloody mess of the complex behind them, John had a feeling that things were becoming more complicated - not just his life, but the life of the People.

Teyla had followed his thoughts. _The mortals say this place was used for testing and the forming of components. And the women..._ She pressed her lips together, staring out to the desert, her gaze glassy with unshed tears.

 _I’m sorry about your friend._

 _Her family will have to be told._

John hesitated. _Do you want company?_

She turned her head, thoughtful deliberation. The red rays of the sun gilded her cheeks with scarlet gold, and John thought about the blood that ran beneath her skin and forced his fangs back. _Are you offering?_

 _From what I understand, the Matri will want to speak with you about Michael Tribeson. And the Dark Angels will probably want to know more about this, too._ And, knowing the leader of the Dark Angels, Tobias Strahan, John was pretty sure that the man would grill Teyla to the nth degree about her intel. _You won’t be escaping us anytime soon._

 _So I am beginning to see,_ she said. And there was a hint of pique in her expression as she turned back to the desert. _Yes, I should like company._

 _Just company?_ He arched a brow at her as he stared into the chocolate darkness of her eyes, felt her tense before she realised he was joking.

Weird to be balancing this; he’d always thought it would come in a rush of emotion and feeling and desire. But they would work this thing out between them - friendship or more - but at their own leisure, without the pressure of Clan or Family.

 _That would be nice_ , she said, after a moment, never dropping her gaze from his.

John hesitated a moment, then began to lean in...

“Sheppard!” Rodney’s voice rang out through the golden afternoon. Teyla’s lashes lowered and her mouth curved in a smile that made John suddenly wish the mortal to hell. “Sheppard, where the hell are you?”

“Here, Rodney!” He called, getting up and offering Teyla a hand up.

“Oh, there you... Oh, hi, Teyla.” Rodney’s pose and mannerisms abruptly became nervous. “Uh, we’ve got a situation inside, Sheppard. Juris-my-dick-tion,” he said by way of explanation. “That’s your area, isn’t it? And, I wanted to talk to Teyla about the stuff she had in her burrow. That’s some pretty cool tech - how’d you modify it? I mean, we tried to adjust the calibration frequency of the NV-3520 scanner, but the resonance only goes so far, and when we tried to improve it, it went haywire...”

John grinned as he ushered Teyla along. _You’ll get used to him._

 _I suppose I will have to,_ she said, but the smile she gave him was genuine, if wry.

 _And now is a good time to start._

They went inside to the tune of Rodney’s questions breaking the desert’s silence.


End file.
